


Naughty Alayne and Lord Commander Snow

by vivilove



Series: Naughty Alayne and Lord Commander Snow [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hand Jobs, Jonsa Smut Week, Masturbation, Peeping, Role Playing, Teasing, Voyeurism, altered timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-27 07:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12576972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: This was not something Sansa Stark had planned when she’d fled the Vale. Her plan had been simple; to find Jon, her bastard cousin who was Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. She’d not planned on being seduced…or seducing him in return.This little series is for Jonsa Smut Week over on Tumblr.  This fic is for the Day #1 prompt-Teasing.





	Naughty Alayne and Lord Commander Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkyrai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkyrai/gifts).



> Important notes about this series-
> 
> 1\. Jon and Sansa already know they are cousins. It just makes it easier. But there's little mention of the Targs if any and Jon is still a bastard. Also, I'm putting them at their show ages instead of book (so Sansa's not 13!). 
> 
> 2\. Sansa has fled the Vale to find him at Castle Black. So, no marriage to Ramsey (you're welcome) and she is still a maiden. 
> 
> 3\. Jon's not been murdered/resurrected in this and I won't address the WW threat. The timeline of events are altered where it suits my story.
> 
> Don't get too bogged down by plot/set-up though since this is mostly about Jonsa love and smut.
> 
> Gifted to pinkyrai for being such a sweetie and always taking the time to comment on everything. Peace, love and direwolf pups to you, dear :)

This was not something Sansa Stark had planned when she’d fled the Vale and Littlefinger’s fawning touches and unwelcomed advances. Her plan had been simple, to find Jon, her bastard cousin who was Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. She’d not planned on being seduced…or seducing him in return.

But these things are rarely predictable…and they always start somehow.

She had sought her family, the only family left to her now though the two of them had never been close as children. But, Jon had held her so tightly when she’d arrived one would’ve thought that he’d done nothing but pine for her all the years they’d been apart. She suspected he had been missing their family, too.

Maybe they hadn’t been close as children but that did not mean there had been no love at all between them.

She had told him of the things Sansa Stark had endured in Kings Landing since the day they had left Winterfell. He had grimaced and his countenance grew fierce at many of the things she told him. His fists clenched in displeasure at all the ways she’d been mistreated by the Lannisters and the kingsguard there. Then, she told him of the things that had happened in the Vale. He had not cared for many of the things she told him then either.

But when she told him about being Alayne Stone, a bastard girl, he had smiled wryly at the way she’d said she was a bastard now like him.

“It’s not the same, sweet one,” he said kindly as his hand brushed cheek, his touch as light as a feather. “You were only playing a role. I am a bastard and will always be a bastard. You are Sansa Stark, trueborn daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. No one can take that from you.”

Sansa scowled at him but then conceded that perhaps he had a point.

Jon Snow is certainly different now in many ways than the boy she had known. He was a man for one thing, a boy no more. And a handsome man at that.

The same solemn face, dark curls and grey eyes but Sansa did not know if his lips had ever looked so full and sinful when they’d been younger. She doubts it.

And that deep raspy voice of his...Sansa didn’t recall his voice being quite so low when he was four and ten. That voice, it does things to Sansa…things ladies don’t talk about. Sansa blushes at how damp her small clothes become when she hears his gruff Northern accent as he issues orders in the yard or the hall. She wants him to give her orders, too.

_No, you don’t. That’s Alayne._

The Watch has hardened him and command has made him harder still. But he would never turn away his little cousin in need. Though she was not so little now. She’s grown, too. He’s noticed. He tries to hide it but he’s noticed.

He had noticed the night she'd arrived.  After she'd washed the last of the dark dye from her naturally auburn hair, she'd sat by the fire in an old pair of breeches and a tunic with his old cloak over her shoulders as she combed her hair out as it dried.  Jon had given her privacy for her bath but he'd returned with some soup to find her still working through the knots and snarls.  He took a seat beside her but stayed quiet while she ate.  But each time Sansa had looked his way, his eyes had been watching her closely with a look she'd seen in the eyes of men before when they looked at her.  

By day, Sansa tries her best to be useful to the Watch. She sews and knits and mends and does any little task that she is capable of. She can read and write which makes her useful to Lord Commander Snow when there are too many letters to attend to alone. And some of the officers of the Watch cannot read or write so well and she aids them, too.

“Your handwriting is far prettier than mine, Sansa,” Jon says one day.

Any little compliment from him sends her tummy into a flutter. Why is that? Too many years of doubt and fear? Too long of being too afraid to trust the kind words of others? But she trusts Jon. She trusts his words so they mean more to her. And after that, Sansa offers to write all his letters.

Her hand cramps from too much of it but she does not mind. The black ink stains her soft, white hand at times. She does not mind that either.

Sometimes he traces the ink on her hand with his forefinger in the evening when they sit by his fire. Sansa swallows the gasps that want to come out when he does this. He watches her closely when his finger is delicately tracing the ink on her hand.

She licks her lips and pulls her hand away under the pretense of fixing a bit of her hair that’s come loose from her simple braid. The way he stares makes her cheeks grow hot. He clears his throat at last and sips his ale as though nothing has happened. Sansa knows better though.

 _My lord is a tease_ , she thinks.

For many days Sansa sits at the Lord Commander’s desk writing. And sometimes, Jon leans over her shoulder, dictating the words for her to write in that deep, husky voice of his. She wiggles in her seat to relieve a curious ache that blossoms between her legs when he does this while she breathes in the masculine scent of him; ale, wood smoke and musk.

“Does this look alright, my lord?” she asks, wanting him to come nearer.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he chuckles.

He misses the pleading note in her question. _He can be so oblivious_ , she thinks. _No, not oblivious. He likes to tease_.

A soft, raven curl brushes her temple as he bends closer to read over her shoulder. She’d like to run her hands through his hair.

Sansa whimpers so softly that she half-hopes/half-fears he will not hear it. He turns his head at the sound. She can feel his hot breath on her neck. Her eyes dart to his eyes…then his lips. He stands abruptly and Sansa feels bereft.

“Perfect,” he murmurs.

Sometimes though when Sansa is busy at the Lord Commander’s desk, his lips and moustache brush the shell of her ear as he whispers a correction. She trembles and he places a hand on her back.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“It tickles,” she breathes.

He smiles and says he didn’t wish to disturb anyone by being too loud. But no one is there with them…except Ghost. And since when did a direwolf care about people speaking?

Sansa rubs her legs together a bit to ease the ache he’s causing with his mouth at her ear. She catches Jon’s smirk before he swiftly turns away.

 _He knows exactly what he’s doing_ , she decides.

For two moons now, she has shared his quarters. He calls her sweet one and little cousin rather than speaking her name most of the time. Perhaps it is to remind her or himself that he still thinks of her as a girl. Who knows? Sansa only knows that he doesn’t fool either of them with that, not with the way he watches her when she walks across the room, not when his eyes darken as he catches her watching his lips move.

He’s always training with his sword it seems. Sansa cannot help but watch. Sometimes he looks up at her standing above at the railing watching. He’ll give her a brief smile before resuming his battering of whatever man stands before him. The weak, autumn sunshine pales in comparison to Jon Snow’s smile, she believes.

He moves with deadly perfection. His grunts and shouts as he spars send shivers down her spine. He was always graceful, slender and quick as a youth. But now he is powerful, too.

_He lifted me so easily when I ran to him the day I arrived. He could carry me across the yard without even getting short of breath, I think._

She imagines his shoulders and chest must be quite muscular beneath the billowing black cloak he wears so much of the time.

In truth, she knows they are. He has bathed a time or two…or twenty…in their quarters when she was feigning sleep.

_Naughty Sansa._

_No, that was Alayne. She’s the naughty girl. She is a bastard born of lust. Alayne could not help but peek._

She watches him on the nights he bathes. Sometimes he’s waited hours for her to finally fall asleep. But Alayne is patient. She knows about waiting.

She tells herself he is Lord Commander Snow then because Sansa Stark would not wish to watch her cousin Jon bathe, would she?

So, it is Alayne who watches the Lord Commander.

He strips down to his small clothes in his quarters before the hearth. The reddish glow of the fire reflects across his pale flesh that is marred by a few scars here or there. She does not mind his scars. They remind her of how strong he is. She would kiss every one of those scars if the Lord Commander would permit it.

He washes himself with a cloth. Every sweeping movement of the cloth across his body draws Sansa’s eyes.

 _Not Sansa…Alayne_.

Alayne wishes to be the cloth that glides across his chest, his arms, his back.

Water drips from the cloth and he quietly groans with pleasure as he cleanses himself.

Alayne’s hand slithers down between her legs. _Only naughty girls do such wicked things while watching her…a man bathe himself_ , she thinks.

She does not care. Alayne is a naughty girl. She rucks up her shift beneath the furs. She slips her hand beneath her small clothes and touches herself…down there. Down between her auburn curls as she watches the cloth move across Lord Commander Snow’s back and then his…arse.

Oh, yes. He often drops his smallclothes to the floor before he finishes.

Sansa would cover her eyes at the sight of his manhood. But Naughty Alayne looks…and she sees a cock. She’s a bastard girl. She’s not afraid of the word cock. She’s not afraid of seeing one either. Not Jon’s…not the Lord Commander’s cock anyway.

The Lord Commander rubs it with the soaking wet cloth. The water must be warm for soon his cock is hard and straining from the nest of wiry black hair around it and his balls. She does not think cold water would do that to a man. But how would Alayne know any better than Sansa? She might be a bastard girl but she is still a maid. Perhaps because cold baths make Sansa shiver and want to crawl under a blanket. Perhaps that’s how Alayne knows that the Lord Commander’s cock would not stand up so proud if the water was cold.

 _My mouth is warm_ , she thinks.

It is always then with his cock fully displayed that his eyes seek hers at last. She knows the firelight will be reflecting in her pupils and he’ll know once more that she was only pretending to sleep…like the naughty girl she is.

Neither says a word when their eyes meet. The room is quiet other than the crackle of the fire and the snores of the massive direwolf in the corner…and the heavy breathing of Alayne and the Lord Commander as they stare at each other.

He strokes himself with the cloth and she watches…all while her fingers are busy between her legs.

His face screws up in a look of…pain? Consternation? She is not certain but he turns back to the basin and grunts loudly.

When he finishes washing, his manhood is no longer jutting out before him. It seems more flaccid and smaller. Then, he puts his small clothes and tunic back on and goes to bed.

And between her legs, Alayne is filled with that throbbing ache. Sometimes she moans softly and sighs but the ache doesn’t quite feel relieved. And sometimes the sensation she wishes to achieve stays stubbornly out of reach.

Alayne knows that his body could not possibly have looked quite like that when he left for the Wall and Sansa Stark went South. And she knows that she’s very curious about it.

"May I touch it?” she whispers one night when he catches her watching him bathe.

She is shocked by her words but she does not withdraw them. She will not withdraw them after failing to withhold them.

He stares at her a long time. His face is a mask. It does not reflect anything he is thinking. The Lord Commander’s face…it’s intimidating.

“Would you like that?” he asks at last.

“I don’t know. I’ve never touched one before,” she replies honestly.

He paces over to her in the firelight.  Up close, she sees his cock quite clearly. It’s long and hard and pointing at her as though it is reaching out to be touched. She sees a vein along the underside and resists the urge to lick it with her tongue.

She pulls her hands out from between her legs and notices the way his eyes rake her body with a smoldering glance. He knows where her hand has been. It’s warm and damp when she touches him with it.

“Sansa,” he hisses as she wraps her hand around him.

“Alayne,” she corrects. “Right now…I’m Alayne, a bastard girl in my lord commander’s chambers.”

He bites off the argument that is surely bubbling in his throat. He’ll play her game she knows. He wants her touch too badly to argue about what she wishes to be called while her hand is wrapped around his cock.

“A bastard girl,” he says with that same amused look he’d worn when she’d told him about being Alayne before. “Very well… _Alayne_. Touch your lord commander if you like.”

 _Oh…he does know how to play after all_ , she thinks.

“Yes, Lord Commander,” she says as she grasps him a bit tighter. Her hand begins to move the way she’s seen him do with the cloth, up and down his long shaft. He grunts unexpectedly and she stills. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, sweet… _Alayne_. A bit harder, a bit tighter and faster now,” he rasps. Her toes curl beneath the furs at the way he speaks to her. She does as he says and he smiles down at her. “Good girl,” he says gruffly as her hand keeps stroking him. He glances along her body, covered by her furs. “You should sit up, Alayne. I can’t have you lying about when you’ve work to do, lazy girl.”

“Yes, Lord Commander,” she purrs and sits up.

She reaches for him but he puts up a hand to stop her.

“Take off your shift first, Alayne,” he instructs her next, his voice soft but full of authority. “I’d like to see your teats while you touch me.”

She blushes and automatically covers her breasts. No other man has seen them since Joffrey ordered one of his knights to rip her dress in the courtyard and beat her. Some men had snickered cruelly in the background as Sansa wept and tried to cover herself.

But then it’s Jon’s face that appears before her. He kneels on the floor and his stormy grey eyes are soft as they look into her own.

“You don’t have to, of course. But I’d like to see you. You’re seeing all of me and I’d like to see a bit of you. I’d never make you though. I only wanted to see them because…you’re beautiful, Sansa.”

“Alayne,” she whispers.

“Aye…Alayne,” he sighs begrudgingly.

His cock has started to soften while they’ve talked of teats and shifts and Alayne makes up her mind. She whips the shift over her head but she leaves her small clothes on. The lord commander doesn’t get to see all of her…not this time.

She reaches for his cock again and is pleased by the way he bucks eagerly into her hand. He whimpers and she smiles. _He_ is whimpering for _her_ now. She likes that.

“Alayne,” he groans, “you are so beautiful, love.”

 _Love?_   She decides not to think on that.

She strokes him steadily but focuses her eyes on his face now. His eyes are busy looking at her breasts as they jiggle lightly with her hand movement but he often looks into her eyes. His lips part and he starts breathing more heavily.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “Do you like touching my cock, Alayne?”

“I like it. It’s very warm in my hand. It’s hard but the skin is soft.” He groans at her words and his head fall back. “Are my…teats nice?” she asks self-consciously. “It’s just that…men had laughed once when…”

“Your teats are the most perfect and beautiful teats in all the world,” he growls.

“No one has touched them but me,” she says hopefully.

“May I touch them, Alayne?” he asks.

“Yes, Lord Commander, you may.”

His hands are callused and rough and yet his touch is gentle and loving. His eyes keep staring at her teats and he licks his lips as though he were hungry…starved. It frightens her just a bit but makes her blood sing, too.

Alayne’s hand is still busy with his cock, stroking it up and down. There’s a wetness seeping from the head that isn’t from him bathing earlier. He bites his lip harder and keeps stroking her soft breast. Sometimes he stifles a grunt or a groan.

 _He said it didn’t hurt_ , she reminds herself.

Unexpectedly, his thumb sweeps across her nipple and sends a thrumming jolt through her body, straight to her sex.

 _“Ohhhh_ ,” she moans, her hand tightening just a bit more around his cock.

She wants him to do that again, to rub his thumb across a nipple again and give her that delicious feeling of pleasure. She wants him to do that and more but…

 _“Unnn-ugh!”_ he cries as his hot seed spills across her hand.

It comes out of his cock in spurts and Alayne’s mouth falls open in surprise. Some of it lands on her right breast as it continues to jiggle with her hand’s movements.

His head falls forward to his chest and it takes him several moments to raise it. His chest rises and falls rapidly with his panting.

When he does, it’s Jon that's looking at her again.  His face is nearly crimson and he starts to apologize.

 _That won’t do_ , she thinks.

So, Alayne removes her hand from his cock and raises two fingers to her breast where the seed lays, already starting to cool. She swipes her fingers along the mess and gathers it. His eyes widen in shock as she brings those two fingers to her mouth and sucks them clean. Her blue eyes never leave his dark grey ones. His breath is just as ragged and uneven as it was a moment ago.

“Seven hells,” he mutters.

“Tomorrow night…it will be your turn to touch me, Lord Commander,” Alayne says.

He stands there transfixed for several minutes before he finally nods.

“Good night, Jon,” Sansa says with a devilish grin of her own now. She lies back down and covers herself with the furs.

“Your shift, Sansa,” he says, holding it out.

“I’m warm enough for tonight,” she replies.

He stands there staring at her still as she rolls to her side. She wonders if he’ll get any sleep at all. The naughty girl rather hopes he won’t.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Melissa made a photo edit for my series on tumblr!  
> http://kitten1618x.tumblr.com/post/168153944412/for-vivilove-jonsa-insp-by-naughty-alayne
> 
> And annarosym made a lovely one too but I can't get the link :(
> 
> Thank you both!


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